


Dare2Dance

by Candamira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet Dancer Draco, Community: hd_owlpost, Dance Contest, Dancing, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Moving Tattoo(s), Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Rimming, Sex On A Swing Set, Street Dancer Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/pseuds/Candamira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and his crew – The Chosen Ones – need to win the most famous street-dance contest of the country, the Dare2Dance. The battles begin and all looks well. Until a new, mysterious crew throws the gauntlet at them: The Dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dare2Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkravenwrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/gifts).



> Dear darkravenwrote, I wish you a merry, merry Christmas and I really hope you will like what I wrote for you! 
> 
> Many thanks to the awesome mods of this awesome fest – kitty_fic and vaysh – for taking care of the owls all year long, so that they are ready for hd_owlpost when we need them. 
> 
> N, my dear friend, as always I’m very happy to have you at my side and in my Google docs. Very special love goes to the betas who helped me to get this thing up and running: The amazing emansil_12 polished it with the patience and thoroughness it needed to shine as bright as possible for my giftee. digthewriter took care of the SpaG and Britpick mistakes and fixed some last-minute-emergencies. Thank you both so much!
> 
> A soundtrack-playlist can be found at the end of the fic.
> 
> All remaining mistakes are mine. The characters do not belong to me, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Dare2Dance**

Harry ran as fast as he could. He'd just completed the shopping at Diagon Alley, and now, feeling the relief of a job finally finished, he was full of vim and vigor. He jumped up a wall at face value, taking advantage of his momentum to run two large steps up before the grip of his trainers allowed a last upward push. He grabbed the top with both hands and launched himself over. He used the moment he was airborne to dart a look over his shoulder. They were all still there. All five of them, all very close; like hunting hounds chasing the fox. Good. Harry grinned. He was getting better at this.

When his feet touched the flat surface on the other side of the wall, he buffered the fall by rolling over and getting up in one fluent movement. He gained speed, and threw himself forward to cross the gap a narrow alley cut through the stretch of roofs like a canyon through the desert. Landing on all fours, he quickly scrambled up the steep roof, pulled himself over the ridge and while he slid down on his bum, a neon-green graffiti on the chimney of the next house caught his eye. 

Though it had obviously been sprayed on with the help of a stencil, it moved. A cute little stickman performed an endless head-spin. Fascinated by it, Harry almost missed the real message: Dare2Dance – Watch the sky.

Then the moment, that had felt to Harry like passing by in slow motion, was gone. The soles of his trainers hit the gutter and he jumped up into the air, curled up into a speed-fueled somersault and crouched into a batman-style posture when his feet sank with a rich thud into the mossy roof of a low garden shed.

The moss was cool and damp beneath his palms, its scent fresh and earthy – the essence of spring. The April sun made him sweat and he smiled from feeling alive and fit to the core. Spurred on by pure joy of being, he continued running, jumping, and sliding over the roofs and through the gardens, making a beeline for Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

To not draw too much attention, he ended his tour over the roofs before he entered Grimmauld Square. The neighbourhood had improved recently. Walking fast to not diminish his advantage too much, he smiled at the old lady who always sat by the window with her cat. He felt an urge of compassion, realising that she was probably one of the last of the old generation that still lived here. The once familiar, grimy fronts of the houses now were freshly painted and welcoming. A baby cried and Harry heard the soothing sounds of the mother through an open window. 

He reached Number Eleven and stopped where it bordered Number Thirteen. Immediately, Number Twelve shoved the other houses out of the way and appeared between them. Harry waited at the worn set of the front steps, anxiously watching out for his haunters, only exhaling when they'd appeared over the high wooden fence that surrounded his property.

The vibrations of heavy bass music were so strong that the head of the twisted silver serpent that served as door knocker bumped against the door in the rhythm. It reminded Harry of Dobby, punishing himself by hitting his head on the wall. In spite of the Imperturbable Charm, he could always tell when somebody was exercising in the studio.

"I'm back!" Harry yelled as he held the front door open to allow his followers, five shopping bags from Diagon Alley, to enter the house. He was about to end the strong Levitation Charm that had worked so marvellously, when the last bag was shoved aside by an impatient post owl. The large brown bird landed on the banister and stuck out its leg for Harry to free the parchment rolls that were tied to it. He fumbled a bit with the string before he was able to unravel the knot as the owl kept losing its balance, pecking at Harry's biceps to help keep upright. "Ouch! Stupid bird! No treats for you, huh?" The owl blinked at him, unperturbed by his threat. 

Finally, the bunch of letters fell to the ground and the owl ripped its leg out of Harry's grip to leave. "Really? No treats?" The sound of music pouring out of the dance studio drowned out Harry's question. The door had opened and his friends spilled out.

Harry gathered up the parchment rolls to hand them over to their recipients. "Luna?"  
Of course Luna was the last to join the group. "I can't find my shoes." 

"The Nargel again?" Amused, Harry gave Luna her letter. 

He looked at the next roll. "Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, this one's for you. Looks like Molly's handwriting." Ron made a face. "As if we could ever forget that she wants us over for family dinner on Sundays." 

"Neville, Seamus – here you are. Dean, sorry, none for you this time." 

Dean shrugged and pointed at the still hovering shopping bags. "Excellent work, Harry! I never manage half the way before they drop." 

Harry grinned. "Practice is the key. Want to take over my shopping trips for this month? I'm sure that would help a lot." 

Dean laughed and held his hand up for a High Five. "Deal."

Harry slapped his palm and turned towards the stairs. Training obviously over for the day, the others headed to their rooms, as well. 

Harry checked the weekly plan of household-duties that hung in the hallway for everyone to see. "It's your turn with lunch today, Ginny!" 

She nodded and pursed her lips, but he couldn't tell if she was pouting or blowing him a kiss. So he winked and smiled, which seemed to be an appropriate reaction to each of the possibilities. Best to keep on friendly terms with ex-girlfriends.

The last letter was for Harry himself. He looked at it with scrutiny before shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans. The shopping needed to be dealt with first. Once the fridge and the pantry were again well stocked, he took the stairs two at a time, glad that the entire third floor and former attic was his. He sat down on his bed, slowly turning the parchment roll in his hands. With a sigh, he traced the seal of Gringotts with a forefinger, bracing himself up for bad news. He broke the wax and started reading.

 

Gringotts Wizarding Bank  
Diagon Alley  
London, England  
London, 5 April 2003

 

Mr Harry Potter  
Grimmauld Place, No. 12  
London, England

 

Overdue payment reminder / Last Warning

 

Dear Mr Potter,

Our records indicate that payment on your account is still overdue in the amount of 20,000 Galleons. Receipt of payments were checked up to 4 April 2003.

Please make your payment within the next three months.

We would be grateful if the outstanding amount could be paid into the bank account detailed below without further delay.

If you do not meet this final extension, we will be forced to begin legal proceedings for recovery. No 12 Grimmauld Place will be subject to foreclosure on 6 July 2003.

 

Yours sincerely,

Bella Pine  
Vault Manager  
Gringotts Wizarding Bank

 

Harry dropped the letter and hung his head, pulling at his hair with all ten fingers. Where had all the gold gone so quickly? 

After the war, Harry spent a large part of his inheritance to renovate the home Sirius had left him, thoroughly changing the interior to fit its new purpose: The ground floor was now a dance studio with a well-cast Imperturbable Charm, permanently in place, ever since Harry had overheard a quarrel between the residents of Number Eleven and Number Thirteen who accused each other of disturbing the peace of the street with pounding soundtracks. 

Harry reached for a framed photograph, one of two that lived on his nightstand. It showed his closest friends. Ron and Hermione broke a kiss to grin and wave at him; Luna, barefoot and busy with braiding her long, blond hair; Seamus and Dean smiled sheepishly and stood there holding hands; Neville, shy as ever, hid behind Ginny who was squeezed in between Fred and George, each smacking a kiss on her right and left cheek.

Hogwarts and the War had bound them together and that bond had grown during their last year at Hogwarts. After finishing school, none of them desired to leave their circle. Harry had decided to make Grimmauld Place their new home. Here, everyone had a safe place to find out what they wanted to do with their lives. And in the meantime, they could – dance!

With so many mouths to feed and nobody else contributing to the budget, Harry's inheritance had slipped through his fingers faster than he had thought possible. Dancing and the music equipment was more expensive than should be allowed. He'd been able to get a credit on excellent conditions from Gringotts; sometimes being The Boy Who Lived wasn't such a bad thing at all. Only five years after leaving Hogwarts, that money was spent, as well. Harry sighed and pulled at his hair even harder.

"Lunch in ten minutes!" Ginny's voice rang through the staircase just as an idea flashed through his brain. He tried to grab it, but his rumbling stomach proved too much of a distraction. Frustrated, he got up and shuffled to the stairs. He had to tell them about the situation, but the thought of their disappointed faces made him cringe. 

Stopping at the landing, he came to a conclusion: He would tell them – as soon as he had a plan of how to solve the problem. The weight lifted from his shoulders, he took a deep, relieved breath and jumped down the stairs, taking two at a time.

~~*~~

Harry was in agony. Every muscle burned, as did his eyes from the sweat that kept dripping into them. He concentrated on not letting any of this show, but from the grunting they were doing, he was sure his friends weren't better off. The only thing that kept him going was the infectious rhythm of '[Lose Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdVC6K2jsdw)' and Missy Elliott's mean, cool voice, whipping him from move to move.

"Break!" Hermione flicked her wand at the stereo, barked out a Silencio, and the music stopped immediately. Harry dropped to the floor, arms and legs trembling from exhaustion.

"Five minutes." Hermione collapsed on the spot and summoned her water bottle. Harry wiped his face with his t-shirt before looking around at his fellow dancers: panting, red-faced and covered in sweat. Even though everyone wore a questioning expression on their faces, no one dared to speak. While Hermione was an impatient and demanding dancing instructor on a regular day, _today_ she was fearsome.

Harry shrugged and glanced over at her. She took delicate sips from her water bottle and looked impeccable in her rosé-coloured tutu. Harry wondered how she'd managed to tame her bushy hair into that tidy bun. But of course, if anyone was to master an impossible task, it would be Hermione. It was her last year at The Royal Ballet School of London and to Harry, she already looked the prima ballerina she certainly would be. She perfectly incorporated the school's motto: Strength and grace.

As if she could feel his stare, she put down her bottle and met his eyes. With a slight jerk of her head she asked him to join her. Harry nodded and inhaled deeply, his breath escaping with an audible groan when he stood.

He gracelessly flopped down beside her, earning himself a disapproving look. "You can't be serious with this." Her gesture included him and all their friends. "They'll never make it through the first round if they don't train earnestly."

Harry knew that. He turned his own water bottle in his hands before he returned her look. "You're right. I guess I was waiting for the right moment to tell them, but—" 

Hermione's stern expression softened. "It never came. Oh, Harry. You can't save them this time; they'll have to do it on their own." 

"I know." He wiped his face again. "Let's get it over with." He stood and clapped his hands a few times.

"I have something to tell you." 

All eyes turned towards him, and he swallowed nervously. "For about a year, we've been living on credit. I haven't been able to keep up with the payments so now I have until the end of June to come up with what I owe. If I'm unable to pay them back, we'll lose our home."

He watched the impact of his news showing in their faces. Ron's eyebrows rose while his jaw dropped. Ginny frowned, the twins locked eyes in a mute conversation. Dean and Seamus moved closer together, searching for a crutch at each other's shoulder. 

The tapping of Luna's bare feet was the only sound disturbing the silence. With bright eyes, she hugged Harry. "I dreamed of a thestral last night, but I hoped it was only a dream, not a portent," she whispered, shivering. Harry rubbed her arms.

"How much?" Ginny finally asked, her voice croaky, as if she hadn't spoken in years. 

Harry hesitated, knowing it would hit them hard. "About twenty thousand Galleons."

Luna stepped back to stare at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, Ron's jaws closed with an audible _click_ , Ginny opened her mouth again – Harry held up a hand to indicate that he wasn't finished. "Don't worry, I already have a plan." 

He could feel the electric atmosphere discharge by his words. Now that there was hope, they all spoke at once.

"What?"

"Always the saviour." 

"Do we all start playing the lottery?"

"Will we rob a bank?"

"Explain!" 

"What are you talking about?"

Harry took that as his cue. "You've heard of Dare2Dance, yeah?" They nodded. "If we win this year's competition, we'll be fine. The prize-money is fifty thousand Galleons. That's more than enough." 

Fred and George laughed out loud, bitterly. "Very funny, Harry. We're _always_ in to fight a lost cause, you know that, but —" 

"You also know that we're just not good enough to step up to the best street-dance crews of the country!" As always, George finished the sentence Fred had started. Harry glanced over to Hermione for help.

"Right. We're not good enough. _Yet!_ " She took a step towards them, shaking her head. "But we can be. You know what we're capable of! We were Dumbledore's Army, for Merlin's sake! We fought in a war, and we won!" She paced up and down. Rebellious strands of her bushy hair escaped her bun and curled around her face in an undefeated, triumphant manner, like the snakes of Medusa's head. And in comparison to Medusa, Harry thought, Hermione looked equally strong and fierce. 

"Harry will teach and train us, like he did back then. Right, Harry?" 

Harry nodded. "And Hermione will support me. I'll need all of you, if this is going to work. I'll need your strength, your willingness to train harder than ever; your determination to fight and above all I'll need your creativity." He stopped to look each of them in the eyes again. "I want us to wipe them all out with a choreo exploding with new, spectacular moves. Do you think we can do that?"

Silence. 

They looked at him, then they looked at each other. To Harry's relief, Ron jumped to his feet, followed by Ginny. They turned to Fred and George who got up too and started an impromptu mini-show, mirroring each other's moves, their feet shuffling in a complicated pattern, the rhythm of their soles on the parquet increasing with every moment until their legs were nothing but a blur. The tension rose, Harry and the others held their breath, waiting for them to make a mistake. 

But the twins just grinned, increasing their speed and bringing everybody to their feet. Yelling and cheering rang through the house. The _tapping_ of their feet, the _sliding_ of their soles and the _swishing_ of the fabric of their trousers, all coalesced into a hypnotic rhythm, until with a backward flip, they broke the spell. 

"I take that's a yes?" Harry grinned at them and exchanged a look with Hermione. She nodded and flashed him a bright smile in return. 

Turning to the others, her face grew stern. "Break's over! Take positions!" Her bun was back in place, Harry noticed as he returned to the middle of the front row. The first tunes of 'Lose Control' hit their eardrums and Hermione counted them in. "Five, six, seven, eight!"

~~*~~

Draco stared at the jet-black monstrosity of a grand piano which was playing the melody of the Balcony Scene from Prokofjew's _Romeo and Juliet_. Grand pianos weren't a common equipment of the dance studios of The Royal Ballet School of London. It had been donated by his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, the former prima ballerina of The Royal Ballet.

If it had only been the grand piano, that occupied almost half of the floorspace, Draco wouldn't have complained. But she had also endowed the enchanted mirror which covered an entire wall. Unfortunately, the mirror thought of itself as an adept ballet-instructor and commented endlessly on the dancing skills of the students. Draco always tried to get one of the other studios for a private training-session. Unfortunately for him, today, he'd been unsuccessful.

Draco wrinkled his nose. He could smell the sweat covering his body and soaking his skintight dance trousers. His bare torso glistened in the harsh light meant to show every flaw in a dancer's technique and the bloody mirror feasted on giving detailed descriptions of whatever he was doing wrong. Draco lifted his chin. He _wasn't_ some random dancer. He was the rising star of The Royal Ballet School of London, and mirrors were meant to serve, not to judge.

He concentrated on the task before him. He was working on improving his [tour en l'air](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVN9als2atU). It required exceptional strength and body control. Draco remembered the instructions of his mother, the goddess of ballet, very well. _Get your impetus from a demi-plié in fifth position and keep your shoulders straight!_

He brought his feet in fifth position and bent his knees and with a powerful flexing and stretching of his muscles, leaped up into the air. His eyes moved faster than his head, his head turned faster than his body. His body spun around and around and around, until he dropped gracefully to the floor, his feet in the same location and same position as before. Three spins! Perfect. Though his mother would more than likely think otherwise. She always did. At least, the mirror stayed quiet. A good sign.

Draco smiled at his reflection, his reflection smiled back at him, and just for the devilment he stuck out his tongue at the slender dancer in the mirror. The other members of The Royal School of Ballet's board had given his mother a hard time, accusing her of nepotism when she chose her own son over other talented dancers for the role of _Romeo_. In Draco's opinion, she had made the only possible choice. He had the looks and he was the best ballerino of his class.

And now he would have some fun! He ruffled his slicked-back hair as he shook his head like a dog that had just been caught in a rainstorm, allowing it to fall softly around his face. The time for rigid poses and strict discipline was over. He ended the spell that kept the piano playing and cast an Imperturbable Charm – his mother didn't approve of street-dance and would be suspicious of that kind of music.

She worried it would ruin his technique and therefore sternly advised him to adhere to the classical style ballet. They both knew he was too old to be forbidden, but she had made it very clear that the consequences would be more than unpleasant if he was caught not heeding her advice. Draco scowled at the memory. It was almost insulting – as if he wasn't clever enough to avoid that! 

He liked ballet, he liked it enough to cope with his constantly sore feet and to police himself on food, but not enough to give up his passion: street-dancing. He would – he had to – find a way to show her that it deserved her respect, too. He would still be a dancer, even if he decided for street-dance. And more importantly, he would still be the same person, her son. The only thing that would change were the moves his body performed. If only she could see it that way.

Draco already had a plan on how he would achieve all this: He'd convince his mother to attend the final battle of the Dare2Dance competition. Surely she wouldn't be cross with him if he won one of the most prestigious dance contests of the country? Until then, he had to be careful. He didn't want to ruin his chances by making her suspicious. 

He played '[I Can Be A Freak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGKrc3A6HHM)'. 

The fast and punctuated rhythm called for complex footwork and staccato hip-jerking. Draco combined his accurate steps and edgy arm-moves with the occasional Arabesque and ballet-style jumps, adding interesting breaks and elegance to his choreography. After a final tour en l'air, the mirror started the expected tirade. 

Draco gave him the finger, picked up his bottle of water and his bag and left the room. He'd be back soon enough. Group training with Pansy and the rest of his crew was scheduled for the late afternoon.

~~*~~

Draco met his crew at the entrance of the abandoned industrial building at the outskirts of London. The stroboscope was flashing pure white lightning, counterpointed by the soft, blurry reflections of the slowly spinning glitter ball. Earlier in the evening, the Dare2Dance tag, the head-spinning stickman, had appeared at the sky, painted there by a strong spotlight and a stencil. Excited, they had waited for the map to be shown, that indicated the location where the qualifying round would take place.

The place was already packed; he spotted Muggle and wizarding dance crews in the crowd. The air hummed with talking and laughter, and Draco mentally embraced the energy-loaded atmosphere. The madness known as Dare2Dance was about to begin, and this time, he was part of it. 

Draco had overheard discussions between Muggle street-dancers about how the tag was produced. They were of the opinion that it was a combination of very advanced laser-technology and fireworks. He grinned. Muggles. So religiously believing in technology, so completely oblivious about magic.

Group training with his friends that afternoon had been a sweaty piece of work, but in the end they had mastered a very hard part of their choreography. Draco was confident they'd have no difficulties with passing the preliminaries. He left Pansy with Theodore, Daphne, Astoria, Montague, Adrian and Millicent, and went to the gentlemen's. 

His mother might never set a foot into an etablissement like this, but there was always the risk of somebody else recognising him and telling her. Draco wasn't one to leave anything to chance.

He examined himself in the mirror above the sink. A few glamours had changed his appearance enough to make him unrecognisable. Polyjuice hadn't been an option because Draco needed his own body for dancing. Satisfied with what he saw, Draco tousled his black, longish hair and pondered to keep the thick lashes that brought forth the forget-me-not-blue he'd chosen for his eyes tonight. He made sure the V-neck of his tight, grey t-shirt showed his collarbones and chest muscles to their best advantage; though he didn't look like himself, he still wanted to look good.

He walked back to his friends; they had all followed his instruction to wear grey t-shirts and black trousers. During their dance, they would all remove the t-shirts, exposing the fake tattoo of a Hungarian Horntail he'd spelled on each of their backs. Every member of the audience would know and remember The Dragons. For himself, as King of the Dragons, he'd chosen an Antipodean Opaleye that wound its body around his torso, sending a crimson flame across his chest. It successfully hid the scars Potter's Sectumsempra had left there all those years ago.

~~*~~

"For our last battle of the night, to the stage –The Chosen Ones!" The moderator gestured for them to greet the audience. Harry and his crew moved forward, smiling and waving. Some minor jumps and easy breakdance-elements got the crowd cheering.

"And their challengers – The Dragons!" The Dragons surged forward, swarming out until they had reached the centre of the stage. Harry's stomach plummeted. There, their leader drew an invisible line with a sharp move of his foot and the tip of his trainer. Forget-me-not-blue eyes met Harry's and a wicked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He stepped back, crossed his arms and lifted his chin in defiance. So did his dancers. 

Harry sensed the effect that bold behaviour had on his friends when their energy level dropped palpably. Flanked by Ron and Hermione, Harry tried to get a closer look at The Dragons. Gossip about them had been going around for a while, but he had never managed to see them perform. Their choreographies were said to be outstanding, but no one knew who they were or where they came from. They were a mystery.

Harry narrowed his eyes. That chin-lifting felt familiar. To Harry, it was forever connected with – Slytherins! He frowned. The Dragons, huh? The Snakes, that would have been a more appropriate name for a bunch of fucking Slytherins! Before he could search out Malfoy's face – because that pain in the arse certainly wasn't far – the DJ put the needle down and the dancefloor vibrated to the pounding rhythm of '[Shawty Got Moves](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nB5H9UP5fnw)'. 

The Dragons attacked. Harry and his crew were forced back to the edge, it wasn't a good start. Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione who patted his shoulders reassuringly. Harry nodded. They had often been behind, only to turn the tables at the last second. He focused on the show The Dragons were putting on. Knowing the enemy meant knowing his weaknesses. 

The leader of The Dragons rushed at them, then dropped to his knees and slid across the floor. He sprung to his feet, shot his arm forward, an imaginary grenade thrown into the arena. Parkinson slid in from the side, like an arrow, her legs straight out before her, to the point where the grenade would have hit. A quick series of backward flic-flacs took the leader away from the danger zone, while Parkinson, now crouched into a tight ball, exploded up and out, into sharp and accented movements, the grenade detonated. 

Two of her fellow dancers – Montague and Nott – joined her. Parkinson broke out and dashed forward, snatching Ginny's baseball cap off her head. She was back in line before Ginny knew what had happened.

The leader and the two Greengrass sisters came running from behind, and leaping over the heads of the three living grenades, took their place in the front row. 

While Astoria and Daphne scintillated with two synchronous, hand-free head-spins, the mysterious leader ripped open his t-shirt, exposing a dragon tattoo that covered his upper body. The iridescent scales of the Antipodean Opaleye had a tinge of silver and when the dancer started moving again, it was as if it came to life. A rippling movement of the dancer's chest-muscles made even Harry believe that it was breathing fire. The effect was stunning.

The soundtrack changed to a dark, industrial version of a classic melody. Electric violins created a cold, alien effect that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

The rest of The Dragons came forward, crouching and sliding across the floor, in total submission to their leader, who began to run and leap among them, each leg parallel to the floor, one in front, the other stretched out behind him, his arms mirroring the movement of his legs. Harry would not have been surprised if the dancer had suddenly sprouted wings and flown to the highest window and out of sight. 

Harry hadn't yet recovered from the impact of that jump, when the dancer propelled himself again up and off the floor. Once airborne, he bent his knees and arched his back; his chest opened and exposed, a gesture of defiance, an "in your face" dare. Each arm was thrown open to the side and back, hands reaching for his feet. To Harry, it looked as if he was defying gravity, though it took less than a second until the dancer straightened his body and dropped back to the floor. Harry would never forget it. Neither would his cock. Confused, Harry realised that he was half-erect.

Once the Dragon King had landed in the middle of his crew like a bomb, his eyes searched for and captured Harry's. They held eye-contact until the music changed back to the pumping beats of 'Shawty Got Moves'. The Dragons all jumped backwards in different styles, some did backflips, some somersaulted, perfectly illustrating the chaos an exploding bomb would cause. 

They rose from the devastation, proudly displaying their dragon tattoos. The shreds of their shirts left on the ground.

Their lead dancer cracked a whip and they crept back to him.

The Dragons retreated to the other side of the dancefloor, gesturing rudely at The Chosen Ones. The leader made a throat-cutting move with his right hand and before they gave over the stage to Harry's crew, Parkinson ran forward for a last time, jerking her hips and grabbing her non-existing balls.

It got the audience hooting, but then she wiped her arse with Ginny's cap and that she had better not done. The hoots turned into booing and cat-calling and the Dragon King grabbed her by her cami top and dragged her out of sight. With a last outburst of defiance, she turned back to the dance floor and threw Ginny's cap in the direction of The Chosen Ones like a gauntlet.

Harry swallowed. The Dragons had done justice to their name. Their choreography had been fresh and original, daring and proud. The audience loved them. Harry spotted a lot of bare backs, decorated with dragon tattoos in the crowd. Already, The Dragons had fans.

Harry looked at his friends. Hermione's and Ron's faces had lost a lot of their confidence. But now was not the time for doubt.

Harry and his crew stormed the dancefloor, burning to meet the challenge The Dragons had presented them with in their own unique way; their jumps and somersaults getting faster and higher, higher and faster, matching the increasing speed and pressure of Daddy Yankee's '[Gasolina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGKrc3A6HHM)'. 

Luna and Ginny ran a gas station and at first they had a lot of fun, washing cars, preparing sandwiches while juggling with tomatoes and cucumbers, and flirting with customers. Until marauding punks attacked, led by a scary looking Harry, causing them to try and flee. They were captured, but, after a dramatic struggle, they broke free, slipping through their chasers hands with fast sequences of cartwheels and flic-flacs.

Hiding behind a petrol pump, they sprayed the punks with the highly flammable liquid and threw burning matches at them.

It was all dance and pantomime, fast moves and make believe, pushed forward by the beats and the voice of Daddy Yankee. But the match was real and so was the fire. Burning hot and bright, it forced the audience to move back from its fury. The dancefloor glowed from its intensity, flickering shadows haunted the walls, a spectacular background for the climax of their dance.

Harry ripped the burning t-shirt off him, sensing the Protection Charm dissolving too quickly. He exhaled in relief when all his friends, unhurt, exposed their naked torsos or black cami tops. Burn holes showed their close escape from real harm. Fume rose from the blazing flames, and, as Harry had planned, the sprinkler system went off.

The fire hissed and died, defeated by the icy downpour that flooded the stage. Skin tingling from the sudden change of temperature, Harry spread his arms and turned his face up, catching drops with his tongue. 

Soaked to the skin, his black hair clinging tight to his head, Harry was aware of the impact he made, dancing in the artificial rain. Smearing trails of ash from his chest down to his groin, he met the dragon leader's eyes. A hard, white spark flared in the forget-me-not-blue stare, accompanied by an oddly familiar sneer. 

The wintery gleam went straight to Harry's groin, reheating what the cold water had brought down. Agitated, Harry vowed to himself to wipe the haughtiness from that handsome face. 

Provokingly, he dropped down on all fours; hit the ground with both hands in the rhythm of the beat. The water splashed up high and he spun around on his knees, his toes sending up a circle of fountains.

Playing with water that covered the ground, his crew slid through each others legs, with a bow wave before them. They were surrounded by millions of tiny rainbows where the light broke in the droplets.

Harry leaped up for a last, yet aggressive jump. He arched his arms sideways, spread his legs with his knees coming up like a giant attacking spider. He threw Ginny's tainted baseball cap to the floor before him, landed on it with both feet and ground it into the wet dirt.

He took a step back; searching for the Dragon King. Locking his gaze, he jerked his hips and grabbed his swollen balls.

The audience erupted in deafening cheers.

Harry hardly heard it. Though the dragon leader wore a t-shirt, Harry very well remembered the way the muscles had flexed beneath that dragon tattoo – like his cock twitched beneath the fabric of his pants.

~~*~~

The jury took their time.

To Harry, the few minutes they needed to come to a decision, seemed endless. He busied himself with casting drying spells at himself and his friends, until – finally – the chief juror tapped the microphone.

"To the stage – the crews that qualified for the final round of the Dare2Dance: The Zombies, The Christmas Presents, The Kings of Lear, The Bad Fairies, The Unconquered Kingdoms and The Dragons." The man took a sip from his water glass. Harry's heart skipped a beat. Surely the list wasn't finished, yet? His guts turned into a hard knot while he watched the juror setting his glass down and fumbling with his papers.

"And also...please welcome The Purple Fish and The Chosen Ones!"

~~*~~

Draco, Pansy and five other students of their graduating class stood at the ballet bar. He watched himself and the others in the mirror, all looking alike, all executing identical moves. He placed his foot onto the bar and bent his torso until his nose touched his knees. Classical ballet left no room for individuality and he felt strangled by the rigid rules that allowed for no variation. He switched legs, his nose kissing his other knee.

Ballet was hard work, and Draco was only able to continue the intense discipline it required because it had been instilled in him since birth. He inhaled the familiar scent of sweat on cotton and realised for the first time that he was – for lack of a better word – bored. 

While he went through the demanded sequence of changes of foot-positions and pliés and demi-pliés, he had a close look at his mother. She never got tired of speaking of ballet. Her stern, upright posture showed that she still was a prima ballerina, every second of her life. Passion was the source of her charisma, of her reputation as goddess of ballet.

Draco couldn't imagine a life like that for himself. He was a primo ballerino only in the dance studio and only on stage. In the meantime, he indulged in his own passion: street-dancing. 

He turned around and at the sight of Pansy's back, lost track of his train of thoughts. Her shoulders were bony, the knuckles of her spine pushed through her skin like the prongs of a baby dragon. Her legs were thin as a pencil and her hair had lost its shine. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow. Pansy was a passionate dancer, but certainly she wouldn't starve herself to improve their technique with lifts? He felt guilty because he often teased her by acting as if he almost broke down beneath her weight, though she was the perfect dance partner for him in weight and height. Even his mother had admitted that their pas de deux and lifts were close to perfection. He would have to talk about her eating habits with Pansy. 

"Centre practice!" Obediently, Draco and the other students left the bar and hurried to the centre to work on their sense of balance and coordination. Draco knew the series of exercises by heart and returned to his former train of thoughts. 

So, if he took his mother and Pansy as examples for a passion-driven life, than he obviously did something wrong. 

That thought had tickled the back of his brain for a long time, but he'd never been able to lay a finger on the spot. But now there was no escape from facing the truth: He didn't want to be a primo ballerino any more. He wanted to live up to his passion. He wanted to be a street-dancer and he wanted to be it every moment of his life. Not only for a few hours in a dance studio sealed with an Imperturbable Charm and not only on stage when he was heavily disguised. Fuck. Mother would kill him. 

Draco snapped back to reality just in time to catch Pansy who had lost her balance. "Pans!" Her body was limp, and her eyes closed. "Pansy!" Draco couldn't hide the fear in his voice. Carefully, he bedded Pansy's head in his lap and pulled the hairpins out of her tightly wound topknot. His mother was already beside him. They exchanged a glance. Magic wasn't an option with so many Muggles in the room. "Call an ambulance!" His mother flipped her mobile phone open and called St Mungo's. 

Pansy was still unconscious when the medics buckled her onto the stretcher and left. Draco worried for her. She was his closest friend, his dance partner and his _Juliet_ for the upcoming ballet performance of _Romeo & Juliet_. What if she wasn't recovered by the time of the performance? Oh no. No, just no. Please no. There was only one solution for that problem. A solution named Granger. Draco closed his eyes and sighed.

~~*~~

Harry sat beside Ron in the first row with only the orchestra pit separating them from the stage. For nothing in the world would he have missed Hermione's first performance as principal dancer.

Impatiently, Harry drummed his fingers on his thigh. Why did it take so long for people to return to their seats after the break? And did the musicians really need to coax the most dissonant sounds from their instruments? Harry was convinced that they only did it to strain the audiences nerves. 

Eventually, the lights dimmed, the last coughs and whispered conversations hushed, and the curtain rose. Harry lost himself in the romantic story of '[Romeo and Juliet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBsC190VZqY)' immediately. Hermione, _Juliet_ , appeared on a Medieval, Italian style balcony, ethereal in her white dress _made of wind and dreams_ as she had described it to them with a giggle. She sank down at the balustrade and rested her head on her hand, her elbow on the railing. A pale moon shone on the scenery and she looked up to it, the picture of a girl in love for the first time. 

_Romeo_ entered the stage, wearing white ballet tights that left nothing to imagination and a loose white shirt with a deep cut, laced neckline. Harry couldn't get enough of the sight of Malfoy's slender, well-defined body. His eyes rested at the bulge where Malfoy's legs met at his groin and there was a sudden snugness of his own trousers.

Romeo jumped from bush to bush, his movements in synchronicity with the cues of the deep-voiced stringed instruments. Near the balcony he watched Juliet, who got up and sat gracefully on the balustrade, her back against a pillar covered with wild vine, one knee pulled up to her chest. 

He drew her attention when he emerged from the bushes and reached for her. She flew down the stairs, but both were too shy for a kiss or even an embrace.

Ron's posture stiffened. Harry understood. The faces of the two lovers held such longing; it was hard not to believe, yet it was hard to look away. Though Harry knew that Hermione was in love with Ron and all but despised Malfoy in real life, her performance was _more_ than convincing. 

When Juliet reached for Romeo's hand and placed it on her breast to make him feel her heartbeat, Ron inhaled sharply. Harry patted his shoulder in an attempt to calm him, but Ron struggled with his jealousy as the scene on stage unfurled.

After the slow beginning, when the lovers had expressed their joy of seeing each other, Romeo began his solo part. He traveled around the stage in a large circle, alternating wide, graceful jumps with pirouettes.

With a powerful leap, he threw back legs and arms until they touched and jerked back his head. A snapshot of the dragon leader, frozen in the air, flashed in Harry's brain. It had all been there for him to recognise, but he'd been too distracted by the black hair and the forget-me-not-blue eyes. The arrogance, the familiar lifting of his chin, and the typical sneer – that Malfoy could not hide, yet Harry had failed to see it. 

Harry slid deeper into his seat, blushing. Merlin. He'd got an erection from watching Draco Malfoy dance at the preliminaries and he was experiencing another one by watching Draco Malfoy dance the part of _Romeo_.

His brain was in overdrive, replaying pictures of Malfoy's naked torso. The dragon tattoo breathed flames across his chest over and over and Harry couldn't stop imagining what it would feel like to be kissed by Malfoy, the way Romeo was kissing Juliet. 

Romeo and Juliet's love for each other was written on their faces and expressed by their every move. Juliet's fingers caressed Romeo's arm, his hand held hers as long as possible until they finally parted. Harry's eyes stayed glued to Malfoy's fingers; agile fingers, made for fondling balls; strong and long, made for fucking an arse.

Back on her balcony, Juliet sat down on the balustrade in her familiar posture, rested her back against the pillar, looked up to the moon and touched her lips where Romeo had kissed her. Harry's fingers were on their way to his own mouth, unwittingly imitating that gesture of longing. He quickly disguised it as a scratching of his chin, when Ron made a gagging sound, got up, and left. 

The curtain fell and Harry applauded until his palms hurt. He'd made a decision; tonight he would tame the Dragon King.

~~*~~

When the applause became only a faint echo of itself behind the thick velvet curtain, Draco released Granger's hand and searched his mother's eyes. Her expression was very earnest. She nodded once, the nod followed by a smile. Combined, they were the expression of her highest compliment. His performance had been flawless.

Draco showered and changed into the obligatory black suit and white shirt. He did it all on autopilot, as he was concentrating very hard on _not_ thinking of Potter. He absolutely did _not_ think of how luscious Potter had looked, sitting in the first row, his long legs spread in a casual sitting posture, not hiding the promising bulge Draco had also absolutely _not_ stared at. At least, not for long. 

He'd ridiculed Potter's unruly hair as long as he could remember. Now he was obsessed with it. It looked hot, tousled into that just shagged style that kindled some intriguing pictures in Draco's head. He groaned. _Not_ thinking about Potter didn't help. The memories kept coming.

Potter's naked torso. Rain droplets leaving trails where they washed away the ashes. Potter jerking his hips and then falling to his knees, the water splashing high in the air as he slapped the floor with his hands. Draco had had some very dirty, very alluring fantasies about that kneeling position. He gave up all pretence. Potter had managed to crawl under his skin and if Draco was honest with himself, he didn't want him to leave.

Draco groaned again and gently massaged his temples with his fingertips. What was _wrong_ with him? Why did he always want what he couldn't have? 

"Draco? Are you coming?" His mother had opened the door to his dressing room and stood waiting for him. Instantaneously, his brain provided him with a vivid vision of Potter, pumping and panting, asking the same question in a husky voice. There was only one answer. "I'm coming."

~~*~~

Draco knew he had to mingle and shake hands, and that he should be smiling while doing all that because his first performance as principal dancer was a big success. _A dream come true_. Except, Draco's dream was altogether different. He felt empty and lonely, with all that people expecting him to be the happiest man alive tonight, while he craved nothing more than a private moment with Potter.

He searched the room. There he was, Potter, clinking glasses with Granger, making small-talk with Draco's mother. Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Draco weaved through the anonymous mass of smiling faces and when he was in hearing distance he strained his ears. 

"Miss Granger, we really must work on your fouettés! Your arms were in a low first position and that's not acceptable. All that street-dancing ruins your technique, mind my words. Though I must admit – and I do it with joy, believe me – that you were the best possible partner for Draco tonight." 

Granger just smiled and said: "Oh, speaking of street-dancing – you must come to the Dare2Dance finale, Mrs Malfoy. The best crews of Britain will compete and if The Boy Who Lived can enjoy an evening at the Ballet, certainly the goddess of ballet can stand a night at a street-dance event?" Draco rubbed his eyes. Had he just seen Granger wink at his mother? 

Draco hesitated to close the short distance between them, waiting to hear his mother's response. If she accepted Granger's invitation, it would spare him trying to lure her to the finale himself. He hoped she would understand why he couldn't be a primo ballerino when she would see him dance there. When she would see that his passion was street-dancing, inventing new moves and combining them into a breathtaking choreography. His mother pursed her lips. "We'll see, Miss Granger. Thank you for inviting me." 

Draco straightened his shoulders and joined them. "Mother. Granger. Potter." He nodded at them and smiled. The smile Potter returned struck Draco like a Cheering Charm. It was dazzling. He held up a glass of champagne to Potter to toast. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Potter's glass met his with a soft _ting_. "Yes. Especially that one jump, when you threw your arms and legs back until they touched, was very impressive." 

"Thank you," Draco said reflexively, his posh manners saving him an awkward silence while he scrutinised Potter. Was there a secret message in those unsuspicious words? Did Potter's eyes sparkle mischievously or was it just the light? Or Draco's own overactive imagination? Before Draco could make up his mind, his mother laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'll introduce Miss Granger to some members of the Royal Ballet's Board of Trustees. Please excuse us." She turned to lead Granger away.

They didn't get far. A breathless, dishevelled Weasley hurried to catch up with Granger. "Hermione, I'm sorry. You were brilliant, I—" Draco tuned Weasley's voice out. He and Granger would make up, they always did. Draco refocused on Potter.

When he met Potter's eyes again, the promise and challenge they had shared during the preliminaries was back. So Potter knew that it had been Draco. He wondered if it was his favourite jump that had given him away. 

Potter held his gaze and waited for a reaction. Draco quirked an eyebrow and smirked when Potter's eyes went wide for a split-second. Yeah, he knew about the impact that little muscle-raising had on other men. Usually, it resulted in the raising of another body part. 

Draco wanted there to be no doubt about his intentions. He said nothing as the tension between them grew in the expanded silence. Slowly he allowed his gaze to wander down Potter's body, until it lingered at his groin. Wasn't there a hint of a twitching cock underneath the fly? When he looked up, Potter's eyes were wary. "Don't fuck with me, Malfoy." 

Draco schooled his features into a model of innocence. "What makes you think I would want that?" Now Potter's eyes traveled down to Draco's scrotch. Draco took a little step back, the fabric of his trousers tighter, allowed a better inspection of what he had to offer. 

He granted Potter a good, solid stare and then took a step forward, entering his personal space. Potter smelled delicious, of coffee and cardamum. Draco leaned closer, until his lips were right next to Potter's ear. "Want to dance?" he whispered huskily. 

"Ready when you are." Though Potter's voice was hoarse, too, Draco could hear the challenge in it.

They approached the area marked as dancefloor. Draco concentrated on the sound his leather soles made on the marble floor, on the way the light from the large chandeliers made Potter's hair shine like a raven's wing, and on the shivers that rushed through his nervous system at the every brush of their hands. 

The dancefloor was still quite empty. It wasn't late enough in the evening, and people hadn't had enough champagne yet, to loosen up and dance. A [Tango](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXl817M50Ps) was playing, the kind of song that reminded Draco of old James-Bond-films, and dangerous situations, mastered with charm and cockiness. Slytherin virtues he had mastered to a fine art himself. 

Potter caught him by surprise when he laid his palm on Draco's chest and shoved him to the centre of the dancefloor with the wide, proud steps a Tango demanded. 

Draco's over-sensitised nerves were very aware of Potter's warm hand on his chest, only separated from his skin by the thin fabric of his shirt. The yearning voice of the singer set in, and the pressure on his chest increased. Potter's eyes locked on his; the intensity of that gaze and the heat of the touch where old scars stretched across his chest, made the moment sizzle with anticipation. 

Though Draco was extremely tempted to lean into that warmth, he forced himself to spin away. Potter grabbed his hand and pulled him back. Draco twisted his torso and then allowed his lower body to follow, turned his hips in an erotically charged move and let his feet pivot on the floor.

He stopped the twisting before touching Potter's chest and fell into a slow walk, circling Potter. Potter allowed him a full round and then brought him to a standstill. They both bent their knees, sliding along each other's calf and upper thigh, while stretching their free leg behind them. 

Draco's knee drew near Potter's groin and the heat emanating from there sent his senses in overdrive. His blood pumped through his veins, filling his cock. 

Soon all Draco could focus on was Potter's mouth. His lips. One moment they were there, right before his own, slightly, invitingly parted. The next second they were gone, far away; leaving Draco with the stale taste of a missed chance.

Now Potter, provokingly swinging his hips, slipped out of his suit coat. He flicked it over his shoulder and with the next forward move, he threw it to the side. He circled Draco, while loosening his tie and opening the upper two buttons of his white shirt. Draco wanted to send the rest of the buttons scattering the floor, he wanted that shirt gone, he wanted to explore Potter's skin with his hands and his mouth.

Draco stopped Potter by stepping into his way. Running his free foot seductively up the outside edge of Potter's leg, he leaned into him until their lips almost touched and then spun away abruptly, to come back in expressive, hip-swinging steps. 

He slowly bent his knee, his hands gliding down Potter's hips and over his bum. His other leg, stretched straight forward, slid between Potter's like a tongue between parted lips. Draco didn't dare to think of the other picture his brain was eager to deliver. Potter's gasp told him that he was affected by similar associations. 

He held the position for a moment, allowing the mental pictures to sink in and to unfold their appeal, then he pulled his leg back and closed the distance, hooking the same leg around Potter's upper thigh. 

Potter caught him, and when the song ended with a sound of smashing glass, Draco found himself blinking up into the crystals of the chandeliers. Potter supported Draco's upper body with his arms, though it was lying on his bent knee. Draco had trusted him on instinct and went limp, his back arched, his head close to the marble floor, his throat exposed. 

The small audience that had formed at the edge of the dancefloor applauded loudly, and snapped them out of their desire-inspired trance. Potter's breath was laboured; his eyes locked on Draco's. 

Potter didn't hesitate, Apparating them away in an instant, and never even giving Draco a chance to protest. As if he would.

~~*~~

To Harry's disapproval, the wards that protected his home, didn't allow Apparating inside the house. He would have loved nothing more than getting Malfoy straight in his bed. Though, this desperate fondling and messy kissing in front of the door had an appeal of its own.

Malfoy's flavour was a mixture that would have told Harry everything about Malfoy's evening if he hadn't been there himself: There was the powdery scent of theatre make-up, the scent of his sweat, the weak aftertaste of champagne in his breath and a faint note of bergamot that reminded Harry of Earl Grey tea.

Finally, the door opened. But not before Malfoy, in his desire to claim Harry, had shoved him against the silver snake that served as the doorknob. It hurt, and he was glad about it because it meant that this wasn't a dream. He'd most likely have a bruise there for the next several days, a visible memory of this night.

The house was dark. They stumbled blindly up the staircase, kissing and groping. When at last they reached Harry's room, Harry disentangled himself from Malfoy long enough to cast a Lumos, dimming the light at the top of his wand until it glowed softly like the flame of a candle. 

Harry imagined seeing his room through Malfoy's eyes: the old red armchair that looked like the ones in the Gryffindor common room, the mismatched set of his chest of drawers and the wardrobe, the rumpled bed. Though what Malfoy's thoughts were of the swing-set that hung from the gallery, he couldn't guess. Illuminated by a beam of moonlight, it was the centrepiece of the room. If Harry had his way, it would be. 

He moved closer to Malfoy, half fearful of his possible disdain. Instead, Malfoy's eyes lingered on Harry's mouth, his hands lifting to the front of Harry's shirt. Harry expected him to slowly release the buttons, one by one. Only Malfoy had other plans. He gripped the collar, and with an evil grin ripped the fabric apart, buttons scattering across the floor. 

Harry smirked and ducked, denying him the kiss. With a quick flick of his wand and an impatiently murmured spell, he vanished Malfoy's clothes. His wallet and wand fell to the floor where they joined Harry's buttons. A naked Malfoy was a delectable sight – if only the scars on his chest wouldn't disturb the picture. Seeing where Harry's stare had landed, Malfoy reached out to lift Harry's chin. 

Capturing his gaze, Malfoy rested Harry's hands on the scars. Harry traced the silvery lines with his fingers, while Malfoy busied himself with Harry's trousers, opened the last button and the zip, and pulled them down. The trousers slid to the floor; Malfoy's gaze followed them. Unexpectedly, he chuckled. 

"Potter, you're pathetic, really! If you'd at least got the day right!" 

Harry blushed. Oh no. He looked down and closed his eyes in embarrassment. Why, oh why, had he not paid more attention to his under garments? "Tuesday, Saturday, who cares?" he grunted. "Take it as a promise. Your arse will remember me until next Tuesday!" 

"Hear, hear. If that isn't a Gryffindorish announcement!" Malfoy's fingers were warm against Harry's skin when they slipped underneath the elastic band of Harry's pants and drew them down. 

"Gryffindors are known for keeping their word," Harry said teasingly. 

"Then, by all means, let's get _Tuesday_ out of these pants right now!"

Harry's freed cock bounced back against his belly, as he stood naked before Malfoy. He broke eye-contact, making no attempt to hide where his gaze was focused. Malfoy's erection was as pale as the rest of him, thick and similar in size to Harry's. 

Malfoy gasped when Harry closed his fingers around his cock. It hardened further in Harry's hand; he watched in fascination as the head came out of its hideaway. 

"Allow me say hello to _Tuesday_." Malfoy's palm was hot as it touched Harry's prick. In response, a bit of pre-come wetted Malfoy's skin.

Harry closed the distance between them. Their hand-wrapped cocks pressed and slid against each other, creating friction and pressure that pushed him closer to the edge. He pulled Malfoy into a kiss; the rhythm of their tongues correlated with the ones of their cocks. Their mouths were wet from messy kisses, their pricks were slick from excitement and Harry wanted more.

He guided Malfoy towards the swing-set and snatched a huge pillow from his bed. He set it onto the seat and looked at Malfoy. "Are you sure about this?" 

Instead of an answer, Malfoy dropped to his knees and met the tip of Harry's cock with his tongue, never touching him anywhere else. Harry struggled to keep his eyes open, focusing on this one spot where they connected. Nothing else had meaning, only Malfoy's wicked tongue that licked his slit in slow circles, closer and closer, until it stabbed the tiny opening. 

The sight of Malfoy's silvery hair at his groin, the feeling of his tongue dancing along the length of his cock – Harry was unable to hold back. 

He came hard, thrusting deep into Malfoy's throat, watching Malfoy's Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed Harry's release.

Harry wanted to kiss that freshly fucked mouth and pulled Malfoy to his feet. The taste of his come mingled with the aftertaste of the champagne and what was probably Malfoy's natural flavour. 

At first Harry scowled, when Malfoy broke the kiss, then he chuckled at having fallen for Malfoy's Slytherin manipulations when Malfoy gently pushed him face forward onto the pillow of the swing-set. 

Harry had planned on Malfoy being his first swing-set-fuck, but things, as they often did with Malfoy, had shifted. Harry grinned. It didn't matter. The night was young, plenty of time for switching in the hours to come.

Malfoy's feet appeared in Harry's vision. "I introduced myself to _Tuesday_ , like anyone with proper manners would do, but you've barely acknowledged mine." Harry raised his head. Malfoy was standing in front of him; his upright cock bent down to make it easier for Harry to _acknowledge_ it.

Harry wet his lips, and pushed himself forward with his toes. Malfoy moaned when Harry sucked him in the lazy rhythm of the sway. Forward, backward. Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on Malfoy's cock gliding over his tongue and in and out of his mouth. Forward, backward. Again and again.

The sway slowed down and Harry pulled back, releasing Malfoy's prick. No longer pale, but rosy, it smacked against Malfoy's stomach.

Malfoy moved and now stood behind Harry. "Merlin," he murmured. His voice was so husky, it was as if Harry's arse was the most luscious thing he'd ever seen. His sharp teeth nipped playfully at Harry's left bottom cheek. 

Surprised, Harry didn't know whether to moan or snicker because the careful biting alerted every nerve inside him. Right on the edge between pleasure and pain, a foretaste of the light hurt of penetration.

Malfoy's hands massaged Harry's arse, and his cock hardened slowly, as if Malfoy's rhythmically kneading fingers were pumping the blood into it. Malfoy's thumbs slowly circled his hole.

Harry's glasses dropped to the floor, but he didn't care; he didn't need to see, only feel.

"How's _Tuesday_ doing?" Malfoy asked. Harry could hear the amusement and the desire in his voice.

"Woke up a while ago, ready for some action," Harry said with a smirk, though Malfoy couldn't see his face.

Malfoy's hands clenched Harry's arse cheeks again, pulling them apart. The tip of Malfoy's tongue made its first contact. Soon the soft exploring changed into firm, arousing strikes, causing Harry to wriggle on the pillow to intensify the friction. 

Slowly, Malfoy's tongue worked its way into Harry. Harry lost himself in the sensation and in the pounding of his fully hardened cock. The pictures in his mind were vivid and his fantasy made up for what his eyes couldn't see.

Malfoy seemed to sense when it was time for the next step. He cast a Lubrication Charm, causing Harry's pulse to speed up in anticipation. "Fingers?"

Harry shook his head. This wasn't his first time; he was too impatient, and he was ready. He could take a cock – right up his arse. "Cock."

"Bold and to the point. What else to expect from a Gryffindor?"

The warmth of Malfoy's hand pressed against the side of Harry's cleft, and Harry's endorphin-flooded brain provided a picture of him, guiding his cock with his hand. The tip pressed against Harry, slick with lube. It retreated only to come back with more force; Malfoy kept a steady rhythm and every time the tip went in further. Then Malfoy pushed hard once.

Harry hissed as Malfoy breached him, reflexively resisting the intrusion. Pausing for a moment, Malfoy gave him the chance to get used to the feeling. It hurt. Not much, just enough to remind Harry that this was really happening. He was having sex with Draco Malfoy. A fact, as hard as his cock.

Harry imagined Malfoy's thick, rosy cock, in the tight embrace of his own flesh, his anus widened to the utmost. He urgently wanted to touch himself, but his position on the swing set didn't allow it.

Another shove, and the swing set began to move. With every sway, Malfoy pushed deeper into Harry, slowly marking his claim. His breathing became laboured. Harry joined his moans, glad that he had thought of a Muffliato.

Malfoy pushed harder until he was in him up to the root. It felt fantastic.

Malfoy grabbed Harry's hip and begin to fuck him in earnest. It was rough and dirty, as Harry loved it. He was entirely at Malfoy's mercy, the swing set keeping him from influencing the rhythm. His arms and legs found no support anywhere and yet, it was like a kind of bondage. 

Malfoy gasped. His movements become erratic, thrusting hard and fast, his balls slapping rhythmically against Harry's arse. Harry could tell that he was close, but he wanted to hear him saying it.

"Malfoy, are you coming?"

Malfoy grunted at the question, gripping Harry's hips harder. "Fuck, yes, I'm coming."

A few last pumping shoves and Malfoy slowed, the rhythm completed destroyed, groaned and went very still and silent. His cock buried so deep inside of Harry, he could feel Malfoy spilling into him in fierce squirts.

Harry's own prick was painfully hard, but there was nothing he could do about it. Any attempt to touch himself meant losing his balance. 

Malfoy slumped down on him. He seemed to have a small kink with biting, Harry thought, when Malfoy's teeth sharply caressed his nape. Harry had never known just how sensitive this spot was for him. To his own surprise, with a sound between a grunt and a cry, he came. 

He'd never come before without his cock being touched. To have no control about it, to have to watch it twitching, aimlessly spurting milky jets of ejaculate into the air, was a fucking hot experience. With the last drops falling to the ground, Harry sank into the pillow, powerless after this long delayed release.

Swaying slowly, Harry enjoyed the bliss. His balls relaxed, his prick hung loose and empty from his groin, Malfoy's cock shriveled out of his arse and Malfoy's body began to weigh on him. 

With some effort, Malfoy cast the Cleansing Spells and Harry fetched his glasses. Finally, they collapsed onto the bed, face to face. 

Harry reached over to brush Malfoy's hair off his forehead. "Malfoy?"

"Potter?" Malfoy's eyes were closed, his voice already sleepy. 

"What was your first name again?" Harry teased.

Malfoy's dark grey eyes opened abruptly, gleaming wintery, like tinged silver. "Potter, don't you dare—" 

Harry tried to stroke the well-known sneer off Malfoy. In response, the hard, white, angry spark in Malfoy's gaze grew soft. "Sorry. For a second I thought… Never mind. It's Draco, as you very well know." A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Harry." 

Harry smiled back and placed Draco's hand on his side of the pillow so that he could rest his cheek against Draco's palm.

"So tell me, Draco. When did you discover your secret passion for streetdancing?"

~~*~~

Harry was very proud of himself. He'd managed to function very well, all week. He answered when he was asked a question, trained with his friends, did the shopping, and the cooking when it was his turn. But he'd done none of them for their own purpose. They'd only served as distractions to fill the time until Draco called. Or fire-called. Or sent him an owl.

It took all week for the realisation to gnaw through his bliss: Draco hadn't called, he'd made no attempt to contact Harry at all. Draco didn't want him. There was no other explanation. 

Harry forced himself to think it again: Draco didn't want him. Every time he thought this, it cut deep and left a scar on his soul, like Umbridge's quill had done on the back of his hand. Harry had feelings for Draco. Feelings he'd buried in a cold and dark corner of his heart, like flower bulbs that rested in winter's earth until the warmth of spring brought forth beautiful blossoms. 

The night with Draco, when they had been so close, had worked as spring for Harry's feelings. They grew and developed and now he needed to look at them, give them a name and decide if he would keep them, nourish them or pull them up like he would weeds. 

Harry paced his room, tugging at his hair. He was restless and his feelings were a twisted knot in his heart. He felt trapped, in his mind, in his room. He needed space, he needed to move. He laced up his trainers, grabbed a half-emptied bottle of water and ran down the stairs to the dance studio. 

He picked a song he thought fitting and with a flick of his wand turned the volume up as high as his eardrums could tolerate. He decided on a minimum of warm-up and supported himself with one hand at the wall, while with the other he pulled his heel up into his bum cheeks to stretch the muscles of his upper thigh. He listened to the first strophe of '[The Edge Of Glory](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKSjmvi5Io0)', Lady Gaga's words expressing his feelings better than he was able to himself:

There ain't no reason you and me should be alone  
Tonight, yeah, baby! Tonight, yeah, baby!  
And I got a reason that you're who should take me home tonight. Tonight.  
I need a man that thinks it's right when it's so wrong.  
Tonight, yeah, baby! Tonight, yeah, baby!  
Right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight.

He wanted Draco to trust that what was happening between them was right. Any feeling that indicated otherwise was based on their history. They had been enemies for a long time, but only because they had never had the chance to really get to know each other. Now they had that chance and Harry wanted to seize it. Break the barriers they both accepted for too long. Circumstances had changed and Harry couldn't see a sensible reason why they shouldn't be together.

It's hard to feel the rush, to brush the dangerous.  
I'm gonna run right to, to the edge with you  
Where we can both fall far in love.

Harry had run to and jumped over several edges in his life. He'd even deliberately trespassed the border of life and faced death. They had been dangerous jumps and he'd had every reason to be frightened. But falling in love? Why was Draco so afraid of that?

I'm on the edge of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment of truth.  
Out on the edge of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment with you.  
I'm on the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge,  
I'm on the edge of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment with you.  
I'm on the edge with you.

Sadly, they had only hung on for one short moment. Compared to a lifetime, one night was only a moment. Harry had believed in that moment enough to allow himself to fall over the edge. But Draco had retreated. Had there been a moment of truth? Yes, Harry thought, every kiss and every caress had felt true and genuine. Sappy as it was, to him it all had felt as if it was meant to be.

Another shot before we kiss the other side  
Tonight, yeah, baby! Tonight, yeah, baby!  
I'm on the edge of something final we call life tonight.  
Alright! Alright!  
Put on your shades, 'cause I'll be dancing in the flames  
Tonight, yeah, baby! Tonight, yeah, baby!  
It isn't hell if everybody knows my name tonight.  
Alright! Alright!

They had been so close, as close physically as two people could be, and Draco was still in Harry's heart. They had laughed and talked, while fucking so hard that the next day's training had been a pain in Harry's arse, literally.

Words like _Love_ or _Relationship_ felt too big, and yet they didn't even roughly describe what he felt. Soon enough, they would both be dancing at the finale, and everybody would know their names after that. But that didn't mean they would both be dancing in the flames – probably only Harry would be brave enough to approach the fire again.

It's hard to feel the rush, to brush the dangerous.  
I'm gonna run right to, to the edge with you  
Where we can both fall far in love.

Harry looked out of the window. Night had fallen, it was dark outside. But the darkness in his mind had lifted. Relieved, he leapt up for a last time, threw back his legs and arms and his head and vowed to himself that he would not harden his heart for Draco. He would wait. But he wouldn't beg. Satisfied with his decision, Harry gathered his belongings and headed for the bathroom.

"Harry!" Ginny's voice made him turn on the first landing. "The D2D mark just went up! The finale is tonight!"

"Did you tell the others? We have to get ready, and I really need to shower." 

Ginny nodded, already on her way up the stairs. Harry watched her banging on Ron's door. He summoned the clothes he wanted to wear for their performance and then, let hot water relax and refresh him. 

Wearing black jeans, his favourite boots and a black t-shirt, Harry felt ready for all challenges tonight. Time to brush the dangerous.

~~*~~

Draco sat on the grand piano in his least favourite dance studio. His sweaty dance trousers and palms would leave ugly stains on the surface, but today, he just couldn't care.

Today, nothing had worked. Group training with The Dragons had been a catastrophe. He'd muffed all his solos and his bad mood had affected them all. Finally, he'd sent them home. The mark announcing the Dare2Dance finale could appear any night now and they needed to train. But Draco could only think of Harry. He swore under his breath. "Fuck you, Potter." Only it wasn't Potter anymore, it was Harry. 

_Harry_.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against them. If it only didn't feel so wrong. If only his dead father's stern voice, that still lived in his head, wasn't so persuasive and so condemning.

Draco's father had always insisted that the Potters had deserved their death because they had been on the _wrong_ side. They were _wrong_. And so was their son. Harry Potter was the _enemy_. He was to be hated and destroyed. Talking to him was _wrong_. Being friendly with him was _wrong_. Being with him was _wrong_. And little Draco didn't want to be _wrong_ , did he? 

And Draco was quite sure that enjoying the feel of his cock up Harry's arse was especially, spinning-in-your-funeral-vault _wrong_.

The grim voice continued until Draco felt so torn between the voice in his head and the song in his heart that he wanted to scream. The voice had talked Draco out of a sleeping Harry's arms, out of his bed, and out of his house. And almost certainly out of his heart. Draco had fucked with him, though Harry had warned him. 

Draco woke up with a burning arse and a heart full of ashes. Class with his mother hadn't made things better. He hadn't managed one single decent tour en l'air, all his moves had felt stiff and _wrong_. Neither his mother nor the mirror had remained silent about it. Draco closed his eyes and pressed his palms to his temples in a last effort to calm down, but it didn't work. Being here felt _wrong_. _Everything_ was wrong. 

The cacophony of the two voices, the clamour of the mirror and his father's hate sermon, was about to blow up his brain. If he only could shut them up! 

Frustrated, he spun around on his bum, deliberately leaving a broad, sweaty trace on the surface of the grand piano. Looking at himself in the mirror, meeting his own hopeless eyes, he couldn't take it anymore. If his head had to explode to end the pain, then so be it. His fingers closed around his wand.

His fury and desperation erupted in a spiteful Silencio. The spell hit his mirror-self right in the middle of the forehead. The mirror shattered from floor to ceiling and – was quiet. 

As was his father's voice. 

Satisfied and relieved to a greater amount than he'd thought possible, Draco hopped down and reached for his bag. His phone buzzed in the voice of Minna, his favourite house-elf of Malfoy Manor. "Mr Draco Malfoy, sir, please answer the phone, sir. Mr Draco Malfoy, sir, please answer the phone, sir. Mr Draco Malfoy, sir—" 

It was Pansy. "You won't believe it! I just got clearance and when I left St Mungo's the first thing I saw was he D2D mark going up. The finale is tonight!" Draco nodded. Good. That was good. "Pansy, thank Merlin you're fine! That's fantastic news! Do you think you can dance tonight?"

"Draco! I can't believe you're even asking!" Pansy's voice was full of indignation.

Draco smiled to himself. Pansy was always up for a challenge. "Will you be a darling and tell the others? Hurry and get ready, I'll pick you up at your place in half an hour." Not waiting for her answer, he pushed the red button and shoved the tiny gadget into his bag.

~~*~~

Harry watched anxiously as, in their typical fashion, The Dragons didn't waste a second of their stage time, running immediately on the dancefloor. Clad from head to toe in black and dark grey, they lay in a star formation, like logs arranged for a camp fire. When the fast rhythm of '[Let's Go](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAJ3RlUEhaI)' set in, they rolled themselves into tight balls.

Following the sharp edged circle of a strong spotlight gliding up the walls and over the ceiling, Harry's searching eyes brushed Draco. He was standing in a ring that hung from the ceiling, a black shadow, hovering over them like a bird of prey. The light kept swishing over him, so Harry – and the rest of the audience – were unable to clearly see what he was doing up there.

Harry's attention shifted to the crew as they came to life beneath Draco; some of the dancers doffing their black t-shirts to reveal red, yellow and orange ones. They wore oddly shaped, pointed hats in a slightly brighter colour than their shirts. The audience was captured immediately; there was no mistaking what their dance was about: Like flames, they twitched and jumped, meeting the super-fast beats, while the dark-dressed ones – the charcoal – performed head-spins and other near-ground moves. 

The flames jumped higher and higher, reaching up for Draco, making Harry look up to him again. Draco's ring was slowly approaching the dancefloor. Harry narrowed his eyes. Was Draco wearing a mask? And what was wrong with his arms?

The ring stopped its descent just out of reach of the flames that licked up at Draco and tried to pull him down. Harry held his breath as the spotlight slowly wandered from Draco's feet to his head. He was in full view for the first time and Harry hooted along with the crowd. A black, feathered mask covered his face, huge wings hung from his spread arms – he was a raven, dark and beautiful. Harry's heart ached at the sight.

He watched Draco dive head first into the fire, landing on a bed of entwined arms. Draco and his crew fell into step together; the flames shooting up as Draco danced in their midst as if he was one of them. Harry admired the vivid sequence of rapid turns, jumps and stomps. Then Draco's feathers caught fire. Burning brightly, he squirmed, and fought the flames that threatened to consume him. After a last, rebellious jump, he sank to the floor, grey and gracefully, like a handful of fluttering ashes.

The audience was smitten; the masses moaned in unison when the fire continued to burn as if nothing had happened. They refused to believe that the raven was gone for good, and Harry's anxiety increased. It was as if Draco knew about Harry's earlier musings, proving to him that he wasn't afraid to dance in the flames either. 

Harry sensed that something was about to happen, when the fire appeared to die down, the flames no longer licking that high in the air anymore and the last dancer ducked and turned into a tight ball of charcoal. 

The music paused. Silence stretched. Harry held his breath in anticipation, until the beats set in again. Massive and pounding, announcing the rise of the phoenix from the ashes. 

His crew now a low glowing fire, one or two jumping up and out time and again, somersaulting like stray sparks, Draco slowly uncurled from his crouched position. Harry exhaled with a hiss, unable to tear his eyes away from him. 

Draco was a glorious phoenix. His naked torso glowed scarlet and golden, the warm colours a stark contrast to his pale skin. Golden wings and scarlet trousers completed his appearance. 

To Harry's delight, the skin-tight trousers hid nothing. Not the bulge at Draco's groin, nor the powerful flexing and stretching of his muscles as he leaped up, spreading his wings wide. His eyes moved faster than his head, his head faster than his body, and he spun around and around and around, in an airborne pirouette. The audience gasped in awe.

Transfixed to the spot, Harry stared at the crimson, golden-winged, twirling blur. It was a perfect picture of his feelings for Draco: They were floating, a mixture of red heat and a soft, golden glow, twisted, and they made his head spin from trying to untangle them.

Draco landed exactly from where he'd taken off. Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes to anchor himself in the here and now again.

The ring descended from the ceiling, swaying invitingly. Draco sat down on it as if it was a swing and Harry remembered them both standing on the swing-set in his room, laughing, and swaying as fast and high as possible.

Draco built the momentum of the ring while he rose into the darkness beneath the ceiling, hooked his legs around it, allowed his body to fall. The ring spiraled; the phoenix was now flying majestic rounds above the dancefloor. Harry tried to make eye-contact, but it was too late. Swallowed by the shadows, Draco became a shadow himself. Again, the dark raven he'd been in the beginning. 

The flames burst out for a last, furious time and died abruptly with the last note.

Silence ruled for a moment; then the masses exploded with approval, hooting and clapping and cheering like they'd never stop. The Dragons had proven once again they were up to any challenge.

~~*~~

It was their turn now. Harry pointed his wand at their shadows and cast a mighty glamour. Satisfied with the effect, he shrunk his wand to tuck it safely in the pocket of his jeans.

Harry in the lead, they flocked to the centre with wolf-like jumps. They captured the audience before the first note, as the crowd gasped with awe. Hearing it, Harry knew that the Shadow Spell was a success – their shadows, black and huge against the dirty brick walls, were the shadows of wolves, with their thick furry manes and bushy tails.

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Hermione tip-toed on to the centre, her red riding hood bobbing up and down with her steps. He and his pack of wolfs circled her with low, predatory movements, while she danced herself into the hearts of the spectators, skipping like a little girl would do, counterpointing the [pounding beats](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDAaevTq51I) and the danger surrounding her.

Adrenalin pumped through Harry's body, helping him perform his powerful, sinister moves. He jerked his head back and opened his mouth in a snarl. His shadow-wolf bared his fangs in answer. 

Harry checked the audience's reaction frequently, not sure if his experiment would work out. He had planned to tease their expectations by combining conflicting dance styles and an exciting choreography. As their version of Red Riding Hood unfurled, he realised that he didn't have to worry – the audience was fascinated, following their expressive movements with eyes and heads.

Reassured, he concentrated on the next scene. Hermione swung a little basket and bent down here and there to pick a flower, completely unaware of the danger.

They approached her, their noses lifted high in the air sniffing out her scent. When she turned, as if just noticing something unexpected, they hastily retreated, tumbling over each other and performing handless wheel-carts. The twins ran towards Hermione, playfully tripping over their own feet like puppies directly before her hand that was about to pick another flower.

She stepped back, eyes wide. The twins followed her, bouncing like whelps and rolling around to show their bellies. She smiled, tickling Fred's stomach. The twins began a mirror dance, with complicated footwork. Hypnotised, Hermione sat down to watch.

Dancing back to back, the twins appeared as a four-legged, four-armed and two-headed jumping jack. As they increased their speed the crowd cheered. They spun around to face each other, moving mirror-inverted, and the crowd got louder and louder. Their legs and arms moved faster and faster, until they became a blur— 

A shot ricocheted from the walls. 

The twins escaped with a series of flic-flacs, the spotlight turned and captured the huntsman. Ron crouched in the shadows, looking down the barrel of his rifle aimed at the wolves. Hermione sat on the floor, still paralysed, an easy prey.

The huntsman focused so hard on saving Hermione, that he was oblivious to the danger behind him. Two wolves – Dean and Seamus – took advantage of this. Their attack was sudden and quick, and they dragged his limp form into the darkness. 

Spread out in a half-circle, the pack approached Hermione in a combination of low slow moves and fast slides, attacking with hazardous jumps as soon as they were close enough. 

They buried her under a pyramid of their snarling bodies. Barely had they started, before Harry ran by to save her. Deliberately using Draco's signature jump, he leaped up and forward, his arms and legs thrown back until hands and feet met. Arrogantly he jerked his head back and roared his anger. He crashed down in the centre of their midst, his shadow an intimidating picture of a giant dire-wolf. They jumped away, somersaulting, back flipping.

In the scuffle Harry's t-shirt had ripped from his body. He searched for and captured Draco's eyes with his heated stare. Draco's gaze burned into Harry's, but if there was a message, Harry couldn't decipher it.

Harry reached down and lifted Hermione's lifeless body in his arms, despair clouded his expression. He grabbed her by the hips and held her above his head. She hung there like a sacrifice offered to a wolfish god. Red stains spread across her white dress until it was entirely crimson, making her look as if her life's blood was draining away. Her back was arched, her arms and legs dangling. 

With a howl, Harry sat down. Hermione lay in his lap, pale and beautiful, dark hair on blood-red fabric, and he bent his head, desperate to kiss some life back into her.

The moment their lips met, Hermione's eyes flew open and pushing him away, she fled. Harry let her go, gave her a few steps ahead, before he got up to play with her, like a cat with a mouse. He leaped up into the air, hit the floor right behind her on his shins, leant back until the back of his head almost met the floor. She saw him coming, jumped up and spread her legs. Sliding through beneath her, he ripped her dress apart. Clutching the torn fabric, she escaped to a dark corner. Harry followed her, gnarling, his shadow-wolf angrily shaking its mane.

Out of the corner Harry watched the spotlight wandering over the empty dancefloor, searching for him and Hermione. The tension was palpable. The audience held their breath, exhaling audibly in unison when they sped out of the darkness where they had disappeared. Hermione was an equal partner to Harry now, sexy in tight black leather, her shadow a mighty wolf. Their dance showed their dominance over the pack.

They faced the crowd, performing a synchronous scene on two levels and in two styles. Hermione's graceful, ballet-like turns and jumps were effectively contrasted by Harry's answering response, performed in the edgy and powerful style of the street-dancer. Each of them perfectly matched to the pounding beats. When Hermione went on her tip-toes, Harry dropped to his knees. Fluent moves alternated with sudden stops and jumps. It was total contradiction in perfect harmony; the surreal effect intensified by the flickering flashes of light from the stroboscope.

~~*~~

The members of the jury filed out of the room in which they had observed the final battles. The tension in the air made it hard to breath; Harry already felt dizzy from having held his breath for too long. His pulse sounded too loud in his ears and the mouth of the jury foreman moved too slowly. He shook his head, gathering his wits. His vision and his sense of hearing returned to normal.

"Because of the exceptional quality of both performances of the final battle, it has been a very hard decision to make. We barely have a performance that is so intense and the judges so split in between a decision. We have thought about this long and hard and after deliberate discussions, the jury has decided that we are going to declare two crews for winners. Please welcome on the dancefloor The Dragons and The Chosen Ones!"

Harry stood frozen in a bubble of numbness. His friends cheered, Ginny cried, Ron and Hermione kissed and the twins jumped up, bumping their chests together in celebration. But Harry himself felt _nothing_. 

He searched for Draco, and there he was, standing with The Dragons, anxiously pressing his lips together as if he was waiting for something. While Harry watched, Draco quirked an eyebrow at someone in the crowd. Harry followed his gaze. Narcissa Malfoy barged her way through the mass, a smile lingering on her lips when she nodded at her son. Draco relaxed immediately and Harry could practically see a weight lift from his shoulders. 

A small hand took his. Luna. "Harry?" The bubble burst and he was alive again. Felt again. He smiled and twirled her around. "We made it, huh?" She smiled back and he set her down on her feet. She gestured to the audience. "They want an encore. A leaders' battle."

The Dragons and The Chosen Ones left the dancefloor to make room for Draco and him.  
Adrenalin rushed through Harry's body, banishing the last traces of numbness. Alert, his heart pounded faster in his chest. A last dance, a last chance.

They met in the middle of the stage. They shook hands and Harry crouched, pulling Draco down with him. They both balanced on their toes, face to face. With the first [note](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKFzlm8Rte0), Harry kicked to the left, while Draco leaned to the right, trying to lever Harry off his legs. 

Harry circled Draco with a low, native dance style cart-wheel, came up behind him, and ducked just fast enough to avoid Draco's leg that cut through the air above his head. He slid through beneath it, rolled into a fighting stance and aimed a kick at Draco's nose. Draco had seen it coming and now it was him who ducked. Harry used his bent back as a support to roll over him, legs up straight in a blurry half circle. 

Harry put on a fast, dangerous fight, staying close to Draco, battling with a lot of body contact. It was intense and hot, like having rough sex, eyes locked on each other. And as with sex, excitement grew, a rhythm formed, and their breathing increased. 

When the last tone faded, Harry still held Draco's gaze. Their bodies were almost touching. Harry's skin tingled where the small hairs of his and Draco's skin met when they drew deep breaths. The crowed went frenetic, but they didn't move. Until the tension faltered.

Panting, Harry realised that it was over. The moment had passed. The euphoria of the victory already fading away, disappointment and rejection left a stale taste in his mouth. At least, Grimmauld Place was safe and that was worth something. He shifted his centre of gravity, ready to finally break the eye-contact, ready to turn and leave the stage, ready to join his friends and to pretend to share their happiness. 

Only Draco's intense stare held him in place. Draco was still breathing hard. Merlin, he was so beautiful with his pink cheeks. The red and golden feathers contrasted his pale skin and grey eyes. Fire and ice had merged into a glorious partnership. 

Maybe fire and ice could affiliate, but for a Gryffindor and a Slytherin – for a Malfoy and a Potter – that was obviously impossible. It hurt to think that. Harry closed his eyes. He was tired and mentally exhausted. He let go. 

The smell of sweat with a hint of bergamot beneath it tickled his nostrils. Hot breath caressed his face, heralding the smooth and dry lips that brushed his. Harry's heartbeat accelerated, but he didn't move. He just stood there, waiting for Draco to make up his mind. The lips withdrew, though the hot breath was still setting Harry's skin on fire. "Stubborn git..." Harry heard Draco muttering.

Then the lips were back, claiming Harry's mouth, stealing his breath. A forceful tongue demanded entrance, dancing along the line where his lower lip met the upper one, challenging him to answer the kiss. Strong hands with long fingers stroked his chest, one sneaked up his neck to bury its fingers in Harry's hair. The other snaked around his waist, holding him tight. Where their bare skin touched, Draco's sweat mingled with his own. And beneath the sweat there was it again, Draco's delicious scent, a fresh note of bergamot.

Harry inhaled, ravished. This was the moment he had waited for; the moment he had hoped would come. Draco had made his choice. This was the beginning of something beautiful and precious. This was _them_ , running to the edge and falling far in love. Harry accepted the challenge whole-hearted, savoured the feeling of Draco's soft skin beneath his palms and slowly, he parted his lips and met that curious tongue, tasted Draco and smiled against his hot, demanding mouth.

All the feelings rushed back in an overwhelming onslaught. Harry wanted to laugh and to cry at once. It was too much, yet, he wanted more! Fuck, he and his friends had won the Dare2Dance! Fuck, Grimmauld Place was still his! Fuck, he was kissing the most wonderful person on the planet! Fuck, was that the audience hooting and whistling? Draco seemed to hear it, too. 

With his lips still on Harry's he asked: "Want to give them another one?"

~~*~~ fin ~~*~~

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your comment here or at [Livejournal](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/87285.html). Comments are ♥
> 
>  
> 
> **Soundtrack Dare2Dance**
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Group Training The Chosen Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdVC6K2jsdw)
> 
>  
> 
> [Watch a tour en l'air on YouTube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVN9als2atU)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Solo Streetdance Training Draco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGKrc3A6HHM)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack First Dance of The Dragons](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nB5H9UP5fnw)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack First Dance of The Chosen Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGKrc3A6HHM)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Ballet Scene (Hermione / Draco)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBsC190VZqY)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Tango Scene (Harry / Draco)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXl817M50Ps)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Harry's Musings](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKSjmvi5Io0)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Final Dance of The Dragons](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAJ3RlUEhaI)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Final Dance of The Chosen Ones](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDAaevTq51I)
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack Harry and Draco's Encore (Leaders' Battle)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKFzlm8Rte0)


End file.
